Another War Over
by BloodsuckerHater
Summary: The Iraqi War is over, but how is America? A One-shot.


**Was looking through the news, and I found an article that said that Obama officially stated the Iraqi War was over yesterday. I wanted to write a fanfic about America after it, how he would feel, etc. I just want to say, that I hope I do not offend anyone with this story. I also hope my facts are not incorrect, and if they are please tell me. I just wanted to express my gratitude toward the brave men and women who fought in this war, and pay my respects to those who died in the war. I hope my writing does those people justice, and I hope you enjoy it.**

America plopped down into the armchair as he sipped from the drink in his hand. He let out a groan as he lifted his feet on the table, getting his aching body into a lying position. He sighed in relief. His entire body was sore and was still in pain, but he felt proud. It is over, he thought in lazy content. After nine long years, the Iraqi war was finally over.

In a way, even though America with England's help had invaded Iraq, America pitied Iraq. He had been fighting against himself, just like America had in the Civil War long ago. Two halves of the whole had been trying to kill the other, and America knew it was a painful process to go through. He himself had gone through the Civil War in four years, but to go through that for nine years…. That had to be hell, and America knew it. Still, America rationalized; he had attacked Iraq with purpose. Who knows what could have happened if Iraq had used those weapons of mass destruction on the other countries?

Either way, America was saddened and angered that so many lives had been lost. He had tried to protect those as well as he could, but still many died. A lot of them had died fighting, watching, or just trying to grasp the truth. A sob rose to his throat, threatening to come out, as he remembered all of the soldiers' funerals he had gone to, and all of the dead bodies he had seen running through battle zones… His eyes prickled with tears as he remembered the families of those gone. They had always been crying out in pain, always cursing fate, as the coffins were lowered in the ground, may they rest in peace.

America looked away from the picture in front of him, his grasp weak. The drink fell from his hands, dropping on the rug below. He stared as the dark liquid stained the rug, like blood….

His heart grew heavier, and he suddenly could not take it anymore. He folded over himself as he let out a wail of pain, tears falling freely from his eyes. It just was not right, was not fair. So much gore, so much blood…

As a nation, America knew and understood all the pain and strain on the soldiers as they had tried to help a population they did not understand, especially when sometimes those people lashed out on them. The soldiers had only been trying to do what they knew was right, to help and protect those who needed it. Still, as it is in war, so many had died trying to do this, fighting for what they believed was right. But what was the point? America thought in a sad manner, feeling depressed. What was the point…?

America's sobs were echoing throughout the room, creating a pessimistic atmosphere. Sun suddenly fell through the clumsily closed blinds, lighting the room up in certain parts. A flash of red caught America's attention through his pinched lids, and he slowly opened his eyes. His gaze followed the light to its source. He let out a gasp as he saw it, as if he had forgotten it was even there. On the mantel piece above the fireplace was the American flag, glowing brightly in the sunlight.

A small smile grew on his face as he stared at the flag, the tears quietly falling. The flag stood for many things: independence, democracy, and home. The soldiers had loved and still loved America- himself- so much, that they were willing to risk their lives for their beliefs. They had known the risks, and still went out there to fight. America let out a stuttered sigh, lowering his head.

"Thank you." America said as he leaned back into the armchair, feeling even more tired. He respected those men and woman who had done this, and was glad that there was still patriotism, love for one's country. He was glad that there were still people out there who would sacrifice their life for the common good. "Thank you." America restated, before slowly closing his eyes, and drifting off to a deep sleep.

Footsteps neared the room, and a state popped into view by the doorway. The state was about to ask America something, but then noticed the dozing country in the armchair. A tender smile came on the state's face, before they neared America and covered him with a blanket, tucking him in. "Sleep well, Father. For once, you were a hero." The state murmured, wiping away the wet tears on his cheeks and kissing America's forehead, before walking away.

America unconsciously smiled in his sleep, his mind registering the words, before his dreams took him away once more.


End file.
